Prelude to the Dream
by Draggy2
Summary: Darkness is all I know, all that knows me, all that consumes me, all that is me.


_Greetings! I was shocked to see that people are still reading my old stories. Please enjoy this one. Written in 2009, edited in 2011, and now posted in 2016. Although it was a companion piece to Sleeping Dreams (my first completed fanfiction) it can easily be read separate. This is the story of what it was like for Bakura to be trapped in the Sennen Ring._

* * *

 **Prelude to the dream**

أ

A thought crossed my mind, gradually at first, but once it stuck it followed me through years, decades, centuries, and millenniums: I have been forgotten.

Should I ever exist again I would be nothing more than a spirit, a ghost, some relic whose purpose (if ever there was one) had long since passed. Once, I was a master of my craft: the orphaned child, the village thief, the robber of Pharaohs! Who could best me? Who could claim such a title within but a score of their life? None of my time; they perished before they entered the tomb, they died because they had.

Only me, and I was no more.

I waited, wrapped in darkness; resenting my fate and cursing it, but never had I the power to break it. I waited because that was all I could do. Darkness was the air, the ground, myself; darkness wasn't anything because the air, the ground, and myself didn't actually exist. I waited millenniums with nothing. As nothing.

Lifetimes spanned and passed and no one with my predilection to tomb robbing arose, so there was no one to free me from this prison. The longer I tried to concentrate on my last memory the more vague the recollection became, until I was so frustrated with trying I lost interest all together. I knew I had been sealed away and then imprisoned within a tomb, but what matter was the _how_ in comparison to the immediate and hopefully soon-to-come _when_? The memory of the soul-tearing, gut-wrenching motion of losing my body was enough to convince me to leave the futile matter alone. I was forced to abide my time and wait.

The darkness was hell.

For a while I feared I had died, so I thought of every misdeed I had ever committed and repented in hopes that my soul would weigh less with the omission. Had the scales weighed my soul and found it too heavy? Was I suffering my eternal fate? But surely the gods would not rob me of that memory, better to torture me with it instead. And if I was not dead (or was I?) then who was there to judge me? So I thought of every misdeed I ever committed and revelled in them. That was me. I existed. I was born. And I was loathed. Abandoned. Mistreated. I watched the genocide of my own village when I was a child, and experienced the cruelty of poverty and the persecution that came with having neither family nor money. But I had survived.

And I would endure this.

My soul was never burdened with the weight of my actions, never had I considered being able to eat a sin. Never had I thought stealing from the one who stole everything from me anything less than just. Blood didn't stain my hands for I had killed neither the murderers nor the innocent: a boast not even the Pharaoh could claim. Still, it was I who was forced to wait in an eternal prison.

As a child, I realized justice didn't exist, and every year since that revelation I was reminded of it again and again. If there was such a thing as justice it did not exist here for I could shed no tears of anger or grief or hate, for such simple things as tears did not exist.

The only thing real was the darkness.

And perhaps the creeping insanity.

The madness consumed me once, and I locked it away deep inside. The miserable existence I faced for eternity would have been far more tolerable had I just gave in, just let the darkness take me, but something within me wouldn't allow it. I existed, it was not life – but still, it was _something_.

The story of my life became the mantra which kept me sane. If such things as walls or bodies existed I would imagine I sat in some dark corner, rocking back and forth, recanting aloud the story of my life in the most excruciating of detail I could manage. Never would I allow myself to forget the me that had once lived. That was the me I wanted to keep, not the me as I was now.

When the darkness became too hard to handle, when I thought I was forgotten (and forever will be) for all eternity, I retreated within myself where therein existed a single tiny room. Space, empty space, eternal space, did not exist in my room. I had four walls, a ceiling, a floor, but I could not remember colour, just the empty existence of darkness, so I filled my room with memories. Heaps of coins and artefacts from the Pharaohs' tombs, crowns, jewellery; a wooden figure carved from the father I never knew; the blue lotus that floated on the water and whose petals I couldn't refrain from touching; the first object I managed to steal, a single bruised apple; the dull, scratched up dagger that I trained myself with when I was a child. Memories. Me. Never to be forgotten. I had this room because I spent so long envisioning it that should its existence be madness then madness had won, for I needed the reprieve from the void.

In the middle of the room stood a single, tall candle held aloft by a gold pole. For centuries I tried to think of a reason for its existence and could think of none. I tried in vain to light it but it refused. I spent centuries more staring at the single wick, _willing_ light to exist. If I could create a room, and if this room was indeed inside me, then I could create light – the logic seemed sound – but the candle never lit and I feared I had forgotten what the opposite of darkness really was. I was too consumed, too tainted to ever know light again.

Even without the light my room was a haven. It existed away from the emptiness, hidden within the core of my existence, in a place that took a thousand lifetimes to discover deep inside my soul. Only recently I had entered my haven to discover – and with no aid from me for I had long since given up – the candle alight with flame. Just a small single flame, but I thought I'd go blind for the brightness of it. I would sit and stare and when I could stay no longer I would think about that light in the darkness and knew it existed just for me. Be it the darkness' pull or my own inability to hide within my soul for long I would find myself back in the nothing and darkness. Pulled away, unable to resist.

The light was torturous hope.

The candle was the key to my freedom, I was sure of it. Perhaps, and I knew I shouldn't dare to hope, but perhaps in a century or two I would be released from this prison? If I willed it, could wishing make it happen? Hope was fresh within me, something I never thought to feel again, but which haunted me with my delight. Giddy, I imagined what type of person it would take to free me: A master tomb robber like myself? That would be delightful, the stories and skills he would have! Or perhaps a Pharaoh ordained from a god to retrieve me? Or a master war general enjoying his spoils? I would be awed by him, for time alone has shown that it would take a great man to free me, certainly someone I would be proud to be so indebted to.

And I would be indebted to this man. His lifespan alone could not possibly be enough for me to repay which I owed, but I would spend that short duration at his will. A man so great I could assist him as he remade history, for I could not imagine anyone par such a person with enough skill to obtain and free me.

The time came much sooner than I had thought; surely a couple of decades had yet to even pass since the candle flickered to life, if even that. I was staring at the lit wrick (still amazed by the very existence of light) when the flame began to burn brighter and blaze higher. Surprised and thrilled I reached out to touch the dancing flame when I noticed, with my room considerably brighter: a door. Never had there been one before. Excitement thrummed through my soul's body as I pushed against the door, anticipating my freedom. The other side was a mystery; I imagined great dunes of the desert, or the ever-flowing Nile, or even the gold-strewn room of a long-deceased Pharaoh. None greeted me on the other side. Nothing that hinted to my freedom.

I stood paused before a long dark and narrow hallway that was consumed of shadows and built of frozen stone. Opening the door triggered the sensation of feeling, something long forgotten and abundantly painful. The chill from the stones seeped into my body and I was mesmerised by the pain. Though the hallway was cold I revelled in the sensation of freezing my feet trailed my fingers along the walls as I ventured forward. It didn't take long to reach the other end and I stood transfixed in front of a medium white door. Colour. White. I smiled and placed my hands upon it intending to push the door open and be free at last, instead I heard a voice –

"Ryou? Are... are you alright?"

– so startled was I at the sound I jumped back and looked around, trying in vain to locate where the voice could have come from. From behind I could still see the little flame pulse within my room – urging me on – so I turned, my anticipation high as I pushed against the door that would see me to death or life, I would embrace either if it saw me from this cursed existence.

But I had forgotten how strong the darkness had trapped me. The door didn't budge. I pushed again and still it didn't give. It must open, it _had_ to! But the door held firm and I stood on the side I had started with as fear and rage spurred me to fling my body at the door, to take action, to do anything I could to get that door open, and when I fell back I threw myself again. I needed an out, I _needed_ it! This couldn't be my fate!

"Hello?" A soft voice said from the other side. "Is someone there?"

'Yes! Yes!' I wanted to shout, 'save me!' but the words got stuck in my throat. Another person, somebody else in existence; I wanted to cry for my joy and rage and all the pain I experienced. I tried to talk but my jaw felt lazy and sluggish, slow and stupid. I had to move my mouth purposefully to form the words. "Open the door!" I said, my voice raspy since the last time I recounted my life was a century ago. I waited, suddenly worried. What if the person didn't open the door; denied me; refused to free me? What if this was my last bit of sanity playing a trick on me, _you've been insane all along, none of this is real and you don't exist,_ but the door opened immediately and the room blinded me in its brightness. My eyes couldn't adjust fast enough, but eventually a small silhouette slowly focused into shapes and colours.

A boy stood before me, everything about him seemed to personify weakness. This was no man, no conqueror, no master of anything. Just a boy. He stared at me as I stared at him. _Was he... me?_ I thought as our eyes locked, but I dismissed the thought outright - I couldn't recall what I looked like anymore but this boy wasn't it. Just his hair, the colour teased my memory. He was... so weak, pitiful. I couldn't imagine this boy holding my fate in his hands.

"Hello." He smiled shyly, still holding unto the door as if it was a lifeline, eyes opened wide at the sight of me.

I dismissed him; he was the servant who serviced the master that would free me. Obviously.

"Let me pass." I tried to push my way past him and enter the room despite the boy blocking my way. He automatically took a step back, which was good, because I had every intention to shove him aside – but I couldn't cross the door frame. "What trickery is this?!" I tried again as the boy stared ever more wide-eyed at me, a single footstep out of reach. "Let me into the room, damn you!"

"I..." the boy said, clearly confused as well but pulling himself out of his stupor. "I don't know why you can't pass." His fingers never moved from the door.

 _Useless boy_ , I thought, _only good for being a doorstop._

"Um," he stammered as he blushed, opened his mouth, closed it and looked away from me.

"What!" I snapped, experimentally banging my hands against the air between the boy and me. I couldn't get this far to stop now.

"Don't you think, maybe," he stammered, "that is..." He trailed off and didn't continue but kept his eyes trained on my face.

"What!?" I hit the air again, no banging sound and yet still my hand couldn't pass! I took a step back, not caring if I succeeded and ended up banging against the boy, I tried to toss my body through the door frame as I had done when the door was blocking me. I stumbled back and rubbed my shoulder... I felt the pain.

 _"Donouthinkyusholdhavklothson."_ He cried and covered his eyes with his hands but otherwise didn't attempt to get out of my way. He knew, he _had_ to know I couldn't get close enough to ring his neck for this outrage.

"What?" I could barely understand a word he had uttered but I stopped what I was doing and looked at the timid boy before me, giving him my full attention as it seemed my attempts to pass otherwise would be futile. He blushed.

"Oh, um," he became distracted and he ceased focusing on me as his eyes clouded over. "I, I... I gotta go, m-my father is calling." He looked at the ground, a blush staining his cheeks. "It was good to meet you. My name is Ryou." And he smiled, eyes meeting mine as he took a step back and denied me my freedom with the closing of the door.

I was left alone once more. This... that wasn't suppose to have happened. Where was my freedom? The talented master? The light that would guide me from this darkness? I fell to the stone floor in my stupor. I just didn't understand, who was the boy with fluffy white hair? Why did he enter my world and how come I couldn't get past him? Was there more rooms with hallways? How was I to get past this first one? How did he leave and why did I remain? I was more confused than ever before.

But the door! Frustrated and ignorant as I was about that door I knew it led to my freedom. The white-haired boy shut me out so easily as to be frightening, though weak in appearance he had the power to hinder me. I had no answers, I didn't know if the boy would ever return, or if someone else would come in his stead (if at all). I feared leaving the hall would mean I could never return so I didn't attempt going back to my lit and warm-glowing room. Instead I did the one thing I had done for all eternity: I waited.

Like the first time the boy appeared (though certainly less of a spectacle) the candle became brighter, the soft light stretching through the still open door. The boy returned. I turned just as the door beside me swung open and soft white hair settled around an excited face.

"Are you here?!"

"Nowhere else to go." In comparison to his voice mine was raspy... gruff even. I scowled. "You!" I shot up from the floor and stabbed my finger at the boy. "Who are you and what power do you hold!?" It was clear to me that no matter what I had to do, talk to, accomplish, meet... before I could be free, I would have to deal with this boy who held my freedom in his unstable hands. He was a barrier.

"Oh..." Immediately the smile dropped to a frown. "Ryou." It was clear he thought I forgot the name of the only person I had talked to since my entrapment. "Ryou Bakura."

"Bakura?" I tasted the name on my lips, not for him, but for me. Bakura. Yes, when my master asks I will tell him that is what I am called. I was a Master Thief, a King to the unwanted souls; a survivor. I endured genocides, plagues, droughts, and eternal darkness. I would exceed the span of this master and then the world would know my fury. But my name lay forgotten, buried in the madness of my soul. Bakura. It would do, my soul had no use for a name of legacies.

"Tell me your purpose, Servant."

He tilted his head and I wondered if he was all there at all. For one honoured... cursed... enough to guard this doorway he seemed daft.

"I don't serve anyone."

He lied! Everything about him screamed submissive. And he was pretty, too pretty to be left wondering streets; someone would have taken him for his hair fell around his face like snow. If for nothing else, that fluffy mop would be enough to see him fed.

He wasn't noble, didn't possess that self-assured importance, and didn't expect the world to bow to his feet. And he didn't side-step my questions in a game of tongues. No, he answered honestly and directly just as a servant would when questioned by a better.

"Liar." I growled and he took a step back. I delighted in his fear and said declared again, "Lair." Panicked eyes slammed the door shut just as my fist collided with invisible air. I stood, stunned.

He ran? Servants didn't _run._ They _accepted_ the consequences of their actions. If they made a mistake they own up to it (or attempt to fix it quickly and quietly) but they don't _run away_. My fingers forcefully hit the closed white door then I fell back to my cold floor to wait.

I lost track of the days, time seemed to be moving... slower. I looked through my open door at the lit candle and wished I was there, wrapped in a domain I could control. But here was better than out there, in ways, better than my room. I waited and the door eventually opened a crack as fingers peeked through, and then slowly I saw a pair of eyes.

"I wanted to see you." Something unsaid hung in the air that sent shivers down my spine. "And I'm not a servant."

"Then what are you?" _An apparition sent to torment me?_ I hadn't bothered to stand, there was no need. The boy only stayed for short whiles and my limbs had become so cold that I'd forgotten all about the joys of feeling.

"I am just me." He said determinedly and I laughed at that useless piece of information with cruel humour. "But I think..." he stalled, obviously gathering his courage and the words required to string sentences together. "I think you have a piece of me too."

I scoffed. That was absurd. I turned, insult on my tongue but the words stayed in my throat. His hand had reached forward and I flinched away before realizing he was past the barrier. It took but a second to be on my feet again, to have that upper hand (even as my limbs screamed in cold refrain), but he had retracted his arm, blush staining his cheeks and completely out of reach he backed away just beyond the door frame.

His eyes darted from my body to my face and froze just behind my eyes. He had to be a servant... he avoided looking directly at me.

"Oh for the... what!? Am I disfigured?!" I said the last to patronize him but now that I mentioned such a thing I realized it was actually a likely possibility that something would be amiss.

He shook his head to the side and made such a quick negative hand gesture that I was immediately put at ease. "What, then?"

"Clothes," and he pointed between my legs. "You aren't wearing any."

"And?" I shot back, crossing my arms as I met his gaze.

"It's just, distracting..." I rolled my eyes for the first time since imagining I had a body. I had forgotten what clothes looked like, even so I was sure I had never seen the clothes that the boy wore.

"Well, good for you." _Reach for me again. Reach so I can pull you through._

His blush deepened and his eyes met mine, it was obvious he was determined to stare at my face, and only that. "Urhm." He stammered before getting back to the _point_. "When you dream – " He began awkwardly and I felt my irritation rise.

"I don't dream."

He averted his eyes to the wall, gathered his thoughts and began anew. "I think you know more about..." he held his hands out indicating everything. "...than I do. Just, I think," and his smile was hesitantly gooey, "that we were meant to find each other."

Bile rose in my throat. Was the wimp serious? This piece of carrion meat thought _we_ were destined to meet? I laughed and he looked hurt. He was serious? That was ridiculous. Did he think... did he _seriously_ think I was caged for millennia's just for the honour of his pathetic existence?! The insult. The fury that washed through me.

I reached; I needed to touch, to tear, to rip. He didn't need that pretty flesh.

But he was safe behind that barrier. Denied to me. I wanted to squeeze those widening eyes but I could only tear at the air.

He was deciding something. He wanted to run, to escape, to flee. But something held him in place.

"What's the matter, boy, afraid of those who lurk in the shadows?" Our eyes met. "You should be."

He came to a snap decision and threw his door open. For the first time this other room was visible to me but my eyes were glued to his, I couldn't look away. Didn't see anything besides the light, bright and searing.

"I've been waiting for you my whole life." He declared. I scoffed, because his life had barely begun, to me it counted as nothing. Not even a millisecond in my damned lifespan. "I've been waiting for you. I wasn't sure after meeting you the first time, just confused." He squared his shoulders and met my narrowed gaze. "I realized a... connection our second meeting. And now I know I will never part with you, never want to."

"What are you saying?" I could hear the midnight tendrils of darkness in my voice. The warning behind the question.

His chin jutted out, just a little, but it was enough. I knew before he opened his mouth the words would be a vow. "That I won't let us part."

I growled and a low rumble of anger echoed in the stone hall. He wanted to _own_ me? Make _me_ the slave? I reached again; he flinched but held his ground this time. Because he knew I couldn't touch him.

"And _I_ will not be your servant!" I vowed back at him. "You are _not_ worthy!"

Oh, he flinched there and it was delicious. "You're a wasted existence. Useless. Pathetic." Flinch, flinch, flinch little fish, flounder at my will, drown in the air of truth for no dagger cuts quite as deep. My smile grew wider and wider as I revelled in entertainment long since denied to me. "Just a sorry excuse of muscle and bone." I laughed and the darkness laughed with me.

Him? This boy!? No, this was a cosmic joke. He was just a stepping stone. "Go away and never come..." I snapped at him, cutting my laugh short. Hesitation, doubt. Hurt. Pain. ...Fear. I felt, something, something washed over me. They were _his_ emotions. I knew it, I _knew_ it. Then why did I experience them? "...back." I didn't want to be alone. The darkness, it leaked through the stones.

"NO! Don't send me back, don't make me go back!" I wailed in a moment of hysteric. I turned to the boy but he was standing numb, eyes glassed over with hurt. No help there. No help. I wouldn't go back. I turned and raced for the candle but my room was so far away, I ran but it never got closer. My room, that candle, it was flickering, the darkness was oozing. "STOP IT!" I gripped my head and squeezed my temples. "Don't send me back there!" The darkness crawled around me, engulfed me, trapped me.

I felt the tug, that familiar pull and I wept. So close, so long, but so close. There hadn't just been me, there wasn't just me. I couldn't go back; I'd never survive the darkness, the madness... the loneliness. Warm fingers clutched first my shoulders, then as I was pressed into an embrace, my back, and all I saw was the white of his hair as the darkness released me and I fell, still not a step closer to that burning candle.

"Ryou!" A man, certainly older than the boy and quite upset, walked briskly toward me. I stood, dressed in flesh as I stared at my hands that held the golden ring...

 _ **–The**_ _ **Sennen**_ _ **Ring**_ –

...felt his arms encase me in a warm embrace, ghost fingers, quickly fading. "I said no!" The man tore the item from my grasp. The fingers ceased. Everything stopped. But an echo chased me, words scratching the darkness. "I already told you I'm taking this gift back! It's not safe for you."

It was as if I had fallen a thousand feet – without the falling and just the crash, where flesh meets ground in the quickest of motions. I kept my cheek on the cold stone of the now-familiar (and oozing-darkness) hallway a second longer than necessary then pushed myself up and _screamed_ my frustration. I was alone.

I had been flesh!

I had been. Tears of rage and sorrow washed my face. It was real. Existence... I could... live. I never dared to dream, not really, not seriously. Flesh! I had been flesh. And no darkness. So real. Could I be real again? Yes. I thought as I glanced at the closed white door. I had stood in existence, had _breathed_. I forgot about breathing, forgot living. I can't remember my last meal...

I wanted to tear the guts from that man's stomach and strangle his neck with his intestines! For just a moment I lived. I had been cloaked in skin. There had been sweet light. And other people. I wanted that existence! He took it. He did something. And I was banished again. His doing. His fault. He banished me.

He would pay.

My imprisonment. The Sennen Ring. The candle light... That boy. All linked, I was sure of it. Ryou Bakura. Not the servant, but the _key_.

I would take more from him than just his name. I smiled; lazy, feral. It didn't matter that the man now had the Sennen Ring. The boy would get it back to claim me. To try and control me and use me as he saw fit. He was acting on his own accord; there was no worthy savoir, no higher master. Just the boy. Let him try. He had something I wanted.

As I reached my single flame of light I felt the ghosting of his fingers on my body, soft; and involuntarily remembered the drops of liquid that splashed my shoulder as he held me tight. No one had ever held me like that. No one would have dared.

I paused, hesitated and then allowed the smile to take over my face. I would need a body and by his words I knew it would be his. He would be my host. And best of all, I didn't even need to worry about uncertain futures. The boy would be easy to over-come, like a silver platter. The idea of me _serving_ anyone now seemed like a joke. Repay the hospitality of freeing me? What a laugh. What about the debt of my suffering? Who would pay that? I would live this life as I lived the last: by taking whatever I wanted.

Still laughing I spread out on the gold coins littering my floor and took no heed at the ominous shadow I cast as I basked in the candlelight. For the first time I felt truly at ease because I knew one simple fact.

Ryou would always return to my side. He vowed it.


End file.
